


The Dark One He Loves

by jdmusiclover



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3922312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmusiclover/pseuds/jdmusiclover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distraught over Emma becoming the Dark One and disappearing from Storybrooke, Killian returns to the Jolly Roger and reflects on a good moment with Emma from the past-involving muscle memory. Set immediately after the season 4 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dark One He Loves

            Killian collapsed fully clothed onto his bunk, not even bothering to remove his boots.  He was physically unable to prop himself up any longer.  He stared sightlessly up to the wooden beams that formed the ceiling of the _Jolly’s_ captain’s cabin, even the gentle rocking of his beloved ship failing to soothe him.  How had it come to this?  She was gone, alone and suffering somewhere he could not reach.  His sweet love, his happiness, the sunshine that had pierced his all-encompassing darkness!  She was his _everything._   He’d given his life for her and her lad, but even that wasn’t enough to keep her safe.

            Killian’s eyes burned; the agony far, far too deep and overwhelming for tears.  He’d always known he would one day lose his happy ending.  He’d briefly allowed himself to believe his rediscovered heroism would protect him from the inevitable consequences of his centuries of villainy, but he’d been fooling himself.  Perhaps he deserved the gaping hole in his chest, far more painful than what he’d endured when the Crocodile ripped his heart from his chest and began to squeeze.

            Aye, perhaps he deserved this but she didn’t.  She never could!  She was the epitome of the valiant hero.  She’d bloody offered her life to save the town, the entire universe!  If there was any justice in the world she should be lauded for that, given every happiness known to all the realms, treated as a queen.

            Instead she was…he had no idea where she was, suffering who knew what manner of agony.  It was more than he could bear.

            The bloody dagger, currently locked securely in his ship-board safe, bore her name, but it spoke a lie.  No one so bright, so valiant, so self-less could be the Dark One.  The darkness may battle her, but his Swan would emerge victorious.  Even so, what manner of torments might his love have to suffer before he was able to get to her, find this “Merlin”, free her from the prison of the Dark One curse she could _never_ deserve to be inflicted with?  He would never stop searching for her and a way to save her.  Regardless what he had to do to make it happen, he would face it without flinching.

            But for now; for this dark desolate moment, he could do nothing but grieve.

            Even her parents’ characteristic optimism had flagged in the wake of Swan’s sacrifice earlier that evening.  No rousing chorus of “we will find her; we will always find her”, just broken weeping, cries of agony ripping from the lady Snow’s throat.  There was no balm for this pain.

            How was he to comfort Swan’s lad?  Henry was currently in Regina’s charge; it fell to her to make the boy aware of what had occurred.  But come what may, Killian intended to be the strong father figure Henry needed throughout this trial.  Killian may have miserably failed when it came to Milah’s boy, but the same would not be said when it came to Emma’s.  He loved the lad and would do all in his power to support and aid him.

Henry was a hero every bit as much as his mother.  If he’d failed to take the initiative, failed to make the hero’s journey to come to the aid of his family, they would still be trapped in that travesty of an alternate world the bloody Crocodile had created.

            Killian grimaced as he thought back to the bumbling, cowardly fool the Crocodile had made him into.  Images from the adventure flitted through his head.  He’d never felt so off balance as the moment Swan fled from her tower prison right into his arms.  She’d been a vision.  She’d been dirty, disheveled, nearly crazed, but he’d never seen anyone or anything so beautiful.  He’d felt the deep, unbreakable connection between them from the moment their eyes met, and it had overwhelmed him.  The way she’d looked up at him as though he were her whole world…it was a feeling he’d cherish for the remainder of his days.

            They’d fled her tower, defeated her dragon guard, moved forward on their quest to right the wrongs the author had set in motion.  Despite his pain, he smiled at the memory of Swan creeping up behind him, taking his hand in hers, demonstrating proper sword fighting technique.  In his befuddled state, he’d been convinced he’d never experienced anything so sensual.  But now, in full possession of his memories, he knew that wasn’t entirely true—for he knew his Swan had learned her teaching technique from none other than himself.

            It had been nearly six weeks after they’d banished the Crocodile the first time.  They’d been six weeks of blessed peace; six weeks of bliss, marred only by his frantic need to right the wrongs Rumple had made him commit.  He’d arrived at the sheriff’s station to accompany her home as he did every evening. 

            “Well, Swan, ready to go?”

            She looked up, gave him the soft smile he’d come to love…a smile that quickly turned to an amused grin.  “What?  Is it throwback Thursday?  What’s with the get up?”

            He’d ignored the first question, having no earthly idea what it meant, but the second was easy enough to comprehend.  For the first time since their date, Killian had donned his old, familiar pirate attire.

            “I had hopes to take you on a bit of a stroll down memory lane, love, and wished to dress the part.”

            Her eyes turning distinctly heated, she’d gotten to her feet, stepped around the desk, grabbed his charms and pulled him forward for a kiss that curled his toes. 

“Hmm,” she murmured against his lips, “I approve; I definitely approve.  Not complaining about your modern clothes, but this look certainly has its benefits.”

            She released his charms and splayed her hand wide against the hair-covered chest his largely-unbuttoned shirt exposed.  Giving her a grin that was pure sin, he swooped in and did a little pillaging and plundering of his own, giving no quarter—not that she was asking for any.

            “If I’d known this was the reception I’d receive, I’d have returned to my familiar pirate leathers long ago,” Killian said when the lack of oxygen finally forced them to pull apart.

            She grinned, turned away to shut down her computer, turn off the lights, and secure the station doors.  “I like the variety,” she said with a shrug, lacing her fingers with his as they began their customary stroll down the sidewalk.

            “I shall bear that in mind for future reference,” he said, brushing a kiss against the head she laid against his shoulder.

            “So,” she said after a moment, “what exactly did you have planned for the ‘stroll down memory lane’?”

            “Do you, perchance, recall a certain duel we engaged upon along the swirling banks of Lake Nostos?” he asked.

            Emma laughed softly.  “You mean the one where you told me you like to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back?  The one where you promised to jab me with your sword?”

            He chuckled.  “Aye, the very one.”

            “How could I possibly forget the sexy as hell pirate whose ass I kicked that day?” she asked.

            “Well, as to that,” he said slowly, “perhaps it wasn’t quite as resounding a victory as you might have believed, love.”

            She raised her head and gave him an assessing look.  “Are you trying to suggest you _let_ me win.”

            “Well…”

            “You can’t be serious!” she said.  “You were hell bent on getting to Storybrooke.  No way you just let me take that compass.”

            “Oh, I wished to stop you, to be sure,” he said with a grim, “I just had no wish to harm you.  Such matchless beauty wedded to the kind of courage and strength the fiercest of pirates might envy…well, Swan, you’d captivated me body and soul already.”

            She didn’t look convinced. “Come on.  You just want to save face because you got your ass handed to you by a landlubber.”

            “Afraid not, darling,” he’d smirked.  “I’d be happy to prove it to you if you need convincing.”

            She gave him a shrewd look, and then stuck out her hand.  “Alright pirate.  You’re on.”

            He tossed her a sword and they went at it.  Within two minutes, he’d disarmed her, laid her out flat on her back and placed the tip of his sword to her throat.  She swatted the weapon away irritably and got to her feet with a grunt, disdaining the hand he offered her.

            “Was there a point to this little exercise in humiliation?”

            Killian sobered, stepped forward and cupped her cheek in his palm.  “Emma, I’ve never been more terrified in all my long years as I was that night the Crocodile chained me to the gates and made me watch as he nearly succeeded in sucking you into that hat.”

            She covered his hand with her own.  “It’s over Killian,” she said gently.  “He can’t do anything to us anymore.”

            “I know,” he said, eyes troubled, “but this town is a magnet for villains.  Who’s to say how long our current peace will last?”

            She shrugged.  “When the next threat comes, we’ll deal with it.”

            “Aye, but when that day comes, I need you to be as prepared as possible.  Please allow me to teach you proper sword play technique.”

            Her eyes narrowed.  “Killian I have magic…and a gun.  You don’t think that’s good enough?  You don’t think I can handle what might come our way?”

            Of course I believe in your abilities!” Killian insisted.  “I just wish you to have every possible weapon in your arsenal.  Please love, for my own peace of mind.”

            He watched as her eyes softened and she gently nodded.  “Alright Hook.  Show me how it’s done.”

            He nodded, smiling his relief, then tossed her a scabbard.  “Put this on love, and return your sword to its sheath.  Trust me; I’ll make it worth your while.”

            She did as he directed, and he silently stepped up behind her, wrapping his left arm around her waist and covering her right hand with his own.

            “This is a sword fighting lesson?” she asked, her voice distinctly breathy.

            He leaned down, placed a single kiss on his favorite delicious spot below her ear.  “Aye,” he said, just above a whisper.  “Sword play is a physical skill, love.  We must develop your muscle memory.”

            She cleared her throat, and he felt her pulse race beneath his fingertips.  “How do we do that?”

            “Lots and lots of practice,” he purred, moving her hand to the sword’s hilt, drawing it from the scabbard, flicking it purposefully as though preparing to engage an enemy.  Every movement brought her body into closer contact with his, and it was becoming sweet torture.

            Emma repeated the motion he’d shown her, then turned her head to look back at him.  “Like this?”

            “Aye,” he ground out, eyes flickering to her lips, so close he could feel each shallow breath she took against his face.  They stood immobile for a heartbeat, two, and then he surged forward, crushing her lips to his.  Emma took the impact with a moan that drove him mad.

            Sword fighting forgotten, they turned so they could clutch each other closer, hands roaming, mouths fusing, meshing and pulling apart again and again, so close it was difficult to tell where he ended and she began.  Somehow they fell to the forest floor, Killian twisting to take the impact, Emma straddling him as her hands moved to the clasps of his vest.

            Suddenly Emma’s phone rang, and she pulled away with a groan.  Cursing modern technology, she reached for the offending device and peered at the screen.  She groaned again.  “I completely forgot!  We were supposed to meet Henry at Granny’s for dinner!  We’ll have to continue this particular lesson later.”

            Killian gave her one last burning kiss, and then got to his feet and helped her to hers.  “That, darling, we most certainly will.”

            The _Jolly_ shifted, buffeted by a particularly persistent wave, and Killian was brought abruptly back to the present.  The agony rushed in anew, so strong Killian feared it would kill him.  They’d never gotten the chance to take that sword fighting lesson to its inevitable conclusion, and now he wondered if they’d ever have the opportunity.

            Where _was_ she?  How would he get to her?

            Suddenly Killian got to his feet, retrieved the dagger and let his fingers trace the etching of her name, is face set in lines of determination.  It didn’t matter where she was; he _would_ find her.  He’d spent three hundred years in pursuit of the Dark One he hated.  Could he do any less for the Dark One he loved?

 

_Notes:_

_\--So, this morning, I was thinking about last night’s finale, and it occurred to me that s4 finale Emma was FAR more proficient in her sword fighting skills than was the Emma who fought Killian at Lake Nostos.  Clearly, she’s been taking lessons.  The natural thought that came to my CS fangirl brain was that Killian probably taught her…and what if her teaching of poor, bumbling Killian in the AU was nothing more than her recreating the way Killian taught her?_

_\--So, anyway, here’s a little bit of angsty fluff (or fluffy angst; don’t really know how to characterize this!) to get you through your first night of the hiatus!_


End file.
